


Hawkeyed

by Sweaterknight



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Animal Transformation, Drabble, Gen, Magic, Male Sheik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7102963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweaterknight/pseuds/Sweaterknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is not meant to be in this timeline, so the Princess makes him into something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hawkeyed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aiis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiis/gifts).



> Don't know the continuity of the LoZ games, but wanted Sheik in Twilight Princess so....... there might eventually be more of this?

The hawk has red eyes, and they watch, most days, from the tall spruce next to the goat herders house. The boy is small, perhaps only ten, but plays with wooden swords like it's not a game, but his life on the line. The man Rusl notices and teaches him some basic forms, and then there isn't a thing safe from him in the village. He wrecks pumpkin beds and fishing pools and chases cats and chickens like a little terror. Somehow, all the villagers love him for it, even as they scold him with amusement in their eyes.

Then the monsters come, and the hawk gouges out glowing eyes and cuts at green hands with his talons, but he's not fast enough to stop the arrows that kill the boy's parents. He's not fast enough to save the boy from being bashed into a rock, and when the monsters scatter with the daylight, he lands next to the little form.

The princess has told him, time and again, that he has been infused with the hawk, and there is no separating them anymore. He is an animal even though he thinks like a warrior, and in times of crisis, he has one small bit of magic left to him. He can only use it once every ten years, and he does so now. 

The transformation hurts much more than he thought, and he spends long minutes panting in the dirt before he can push himself up. He labors clumsily for a minute with his limbs, and when he can stand, he pulls the boy into his arms and climbs back up the ladder to his home.

Inside, the fire is still crackling merrily. The home looks unchanged, except the marriage bed on the loft will no longer be needed. He sets the boy carefully on his own bed, and puts a pot of water on to boil as he shreds a sheet for bandages. He notes, in an absent sort of way, that his hands still have talons, that feathers still cling to the line of his bare torso, that he can still see the tiny movements of a titmouse at the corner of his eyes. The transformation is never going to be complete, he thinks, and wonders why the princess would curse him to such a fate when the Hidden Village is so empty, when the last of his people is an old woman growing older-

-but he is not meant to think of such things anymore. His duty is to the boy, and he tends his head wound and his broken arm with tender hands. 

Heroes never look much different over the ages, he thinks, and this one is no different. Even young and in sleep, the sharp lines of his face are the same ones he held in a different world, a different life. His hands are strong already, calluses lining his palms from the sword grip, and he traces them with a claw to see the panicked little twitch in his brow and the way his fingers curl. He is achingly the same, and yet a child, a new thing cast for a new age.

He wonders if the temples will be as dangerous this time. If the little body he tends to will grow big enough to handle them without a guide. He may be charged with the boy's safety, but a bird is no match for the monsters waiting under the lake or above the sky. By the time he is old enough, he will be all but useless, a mere messenger for the princess.

In thoughts like these, he hates her and all of her divine righteousness. He wishes she had left him his true form, that he could watch from the shadows on his own two feet. But her will is his life, and he can't hate destiny anymore than he can hate this boy.

There's a little hurt noise from the child, and he pauses, going still as the blue eyes blink open. They cast about until they land on him, and then they widen.

He expects shock or panic, but the Hero will always surprise him like this. The boy only lays back on the pillows and says softly, "You're the one from my dreams."

He shudders at this, but says simply, "Your parents are dead." His voice is much more harsh than he was expecting. He sounds like a hawk more than a man, and wonders if the transformation is already receding.

The boy looks away for a moment, tears gathering, but they roll down his cheeks in silence.  
He finishes the splint carefully, grateful that the boy was unconscious when he set the bone. 

The boy watches his hands, and finally says, "You're the hawk, aren't you?"

He stills, and the boy looks at him warily, like he's waiting for more bad news.

"I am," he rasps, "and I will always be watching you, Link."

"Why?" he asks, and now his face crumples with sadness that he cannot keep quiet. He grabs, surprisingly, at his arms, asking without words for comfort. Awkwardly, he gives it, and says into soft hair that used to hold more gold in it, "Because you are destined for great things."

"Well I don't want great things! I just want- I just-" Link sobs into his chest too hard to finish, and soon the boy is sniffling and soft in his arms, blinking back more sleep.

"Rest now," he says, and lays the boy back down, "I will go get the mayor."

He moves to stand, but a strong hand grabs his wrist. His heart aches at the strength in it, and the need in those eyes. Once, and only once, he could have given in to that need and joined his Hero in bed. Now he has to leave so that the boy will not see the bodies lying broken in the grass, so that the villagers will know to care for the boy while he heals.

"Please," Link asks, "what do I call you?"

He blinks, surprised. He wasn't expecting this.

"I no longer have a name," he says, "but once, you called me Sheik."

"Sheik," he echoes, and then is asleep.


End file.
